


What Is and What Should Never Be

by Voicefullofmoney



Series: Zukka Supernatural AU [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Au Inside an AU, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Canon-Typical Angst (Supernatural), Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Zuko, Djinnverse (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pre-redemption Arc Zuko, Sokka (Avatar)-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28842096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voicefullofmoney/pseuds/Voicefullofmoney
Summary: While on the hunt for a djinn, Sokka finds himself in an alternate reality where his deepest wish has been met. Meanwhile, the demon Zuko must decide just how far he's willing to go to ensure that Sokka's soul will someday belong to him.This story re-imagines Supernatural S2Ep20 with characters from Avatar: the Last Airbender. It exists in the same universe as the previous story in this series, taking place sometime after those events.Beta’d by the wonderfulaphelius.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Zukka Supernatural AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114817
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

“So I just checked in with Bato.” Katara’s voice was barely audible over the car radio as Sokka drove down the empty stretch of road, cell phone sandwiched precariously between his ear and right shoulder. “He agrees with me. We’ve definitely got a djinn on our hands.”

Sokka shoved another piece of gas station jerky in his mouth before reaching across to turn the radio down. 

“Wait, a genie? Like, Barbara Eden granting wishes in a pink bra and harem pants?”

He could practically hear Katara rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. “No, I’m pretty sure we’re not hunting any sexist fantasies today. From what I can tell, the djinn we’re dealing with is a creature the Babylonians would have called a Rabisu. It’s a vampiric monster that likes to hide in big empty places like ruins and forests. The lore on wishes is unclear, but these things definitely like to trap and feed on their victims over a period of at least a few days.” 

“Hey, vampires can still be hot. No offense to Bones fans, but David Boreanaz will always be Angel to me.”

“Sokka, are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” Sokka reached back over to the bag of junk food sitting in the passenger seat and tossed a package of Hostess Donettes into his lap before refocusing his eyes on the road. “Where did you say they like to set up? Ruins and woods?”

“Well, I looked and there aren’t really any dense forests or cave systems close enough to the areas our victims disappeared from. Then again...” Katara paused and Sokka waited for the faint tip-tap of her furious typing to pass. “It could be squatting somewhere man-made. Any big, empty structure would do—the more places to hide the better. And it would have to be somewhere the djinn could keep people for multiple days without having to worry about being interrupted.”

“Well we’ve got, what, forty square miles or so to work through? I’m already taking the long way back to the motel. I’ll let you know if I spot anything.”

“Fine,” Katara replied. “Just please don’t eat any powdered donuts in the car while you drive. It gets everywhere.”

Sokka was silent for a beat, glancing at the paper bag in his lap. 

“Oh God, you’re already eating them, aren’t you?”

“No! Of course not,” Sokka protested. And it wasn’t a lie—technically he hadn’t opened the package yet. “I’m eating a lump of extremely processed, dried meat product like the red-blooded carnivore I am.” 

Katara sighed. 

“Whatever. Just please try and keep any greasy or sticky residue on your side, okay? There’s only so much Clorox wipes can do. I’m not a magician.” 

Sokka was about to fire off a sarcastic retort when something caught his eye. Up ahead, on the right side of the road, two tall brick smokestacks rose into the air, bookending what looked to be a large, warehouse-shaped structure. 

“Hey, so I think I found a place that might fit our criteria,” said Sokka, slowing the car as he approached. “Looks like an abandoned warehouse or something. I’m going to check it out.” 

“No, wait, Sokka. Don’t go in alone. If this is a djinn, it’s going to be extremely powerful. These things have been around for millennia—we’re talking 1900s BCE.” 

“I’ll be fine. I just want to see if there’s an easy way in. If it looks promising, I’ll come back and get you and we’ll search it together.”

There was another moment of silence. Sokka could picture his sister on the other end of the line, a finger tapping restlessly on the table as she chewed her lower lip, trying to decide whether or not she could trust him not to do something stupid.

“Besides,” he decided to add, hoping to derail her worry with some levity. “You said Rabisu are Babylonian, not Assyrian. So technically we’re talking 1700s BCE at the earliest—more like 500, actually, if your sources are Chaldean.”

Sokka smiled to himself as he heard Katara scoff. “Nerd.” 

“Hey, if you ask me, more people should be passionate about the Ancient Near East. Mesopotamia had all the good drama back in the day.” 

“If you say so, Professor,” she said, affection breaking through her feigned annoyance.

Sokka parked the car just off the side of the road. “I’ll call you with an update soon. Fifteen minutes, tops. I promise.” 

“Okay. Stay safe.” 

Sokka hung up, grabbed his flashlight, and stepped out of the car. Up close, it was clear the building had once been a factory, though it hadn’t been used in a very long time. The access road was completely overgrown and the foremost smokestack was beginning to crumble. He pushed through some of the underbrush, shining his light up ahead in search of an entrance. Eventually, he spotted a rotting door with a broken window and flaking paint. He fought through the vines that tangled around his shins until he reached it, pausing on the threshold to brush some of the accumulated briars off his jeans. 

The door was barely clinging to its hinges, having long since lost any function as a barrier. Sokka poked his flashlight past the jagged edge of the door’s broken window and looked inside. The building’s brick walls were mostly intact, but the roof and internal walls all showed signs of severe water damage. From where Sokka stood, he could see through one of the collapsed walls into the factory’s central area. His flashlight hit the corners of large, industrial ironwork hardware, casting shadows like grotesque teeth back through the lurking layers of machinery which filled the space.

Abandoned? Check. Remote? Check. Lots of nooks and crannies for hiding in? Also check. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Katara knew him too well—he desperately wanted to rush ahead and search the place. Even if there weren’t any signs of a djinn, the fact that the building’s core was made of brick wood instead of cinder block or concrete meant that it was old enough to house some fascinating historic factory equipment. And if he waited to search the place with Katara, there was very little chance she’d be interested in stopping to take rubbings of serial numbers. 

The door in front of him didn’t have a handle anymore, so Sokka had to grab it by the open window frame, careful to avoid any broken glass. He lifted it with ease and propped it up against the doorway with an echoing thud. The building had been silent before he moved the door, and it remained silent once the sound died away. Sokka clicked off his flashlight and waited, motionless, for any hint that his actions had drawn attention. He strained his ears, but the cavernous space was utterly still. 

After a few moments, he turned his flashlight back on and took a couple tentative steps inside. He looked to the left and the right, but saw nothing. He could easily sweep the building right now. It would take him hardly any time at all, and it was probably a dead-end anyway.

But a promise was a promise. 

Reluctantly, Sokka lowered his flashlight and steeled himself for the trek back through the jungle of weeds. He kept his light trained on the ground, searching for tracks to retrace as he stepped carefully through the dark. He was about to reach for his phone to call Katara when a light flashed in his periphery. By the time his brain registered the image of a dark hand reaching toward him, wreathed in ethereal blue flame, it was already too late. 

  
  


***

Sokka awoke with a gasp, springing upright in a suspiciously comfortable bed. He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dark around him. He was in a relatively nondescript bedroom. A bookcase and a small desk were against the wall across from him, and a dresser and a closet door were to his right. The clock on the nightstand read 12:14, and a few pieces of errant laundry littered the ground. 

Disoriented, he reached up to rub his face, only to feel the cool touch of a strange bit of metal pass over his nose and lips as he dragged his fingers down towards his chin. He pulled his hand away with a frown. Moonlight caught on a simple silver ring on his left hand, its surface embossed with a subtle wave pattern. What? Why was he wearing a—

Sokka started, his muddled thoughts cut short by the sound of movement next to him. He turned to see the naked torso of a man with long, straight black hair lying there, asleep. His face was turned away, tucked into the pillow he cradled in his left arm. The faint ambient light from the window illuminated the smooth muscles of the man’s bare back, defined in a sleek way that Sokka associated with dancers and runners. 

Where the hell was he and why was there a hot guy asleep in his bed? 

There was a cell phone sitting next to the alarm clock on the nightstand. As quietly as he could manage, Sokka pulled aside the covers, grabbed the phone, and slipped out of bed. In only a pair of boxer briefs, he felt horribly exposed as he tiptoed out of the room, so he grabbed a few random pieces of clothing off the floor on his way. 

He flipped open the phone in his hand as soon as he was outside. He scrolled through the contacts quickly in till his eyes caught on a name he recognized—Katara. He hit dial and started rummaging through the laundry in his arms as the phone rang. A pair of gym shorts, some sweatpants, two more boxer briefs, and a single sock. No shirt, but better than nothing. 

“Hello? Sokka?” Katara’s voice instantly filled Sokka with relief. 

“Oh thank God. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Sokka shoved one leg into the pair of sweatpants as he hobbled towards the dining room. “I think the djinn got me. I have no idea where I am and there’s this hot guy in my bed—”

“Sokka, slow down. What are you talking about?” Katara sounded equal parts confused and annoyed. “The gin got you? Have you been drinking again?”

“What?” Sokka sat down at the small dining room table in front of him and finished pulling on his pants. “No, listen. The last thing I remember I’m scoping out the factory and I think the djinn jumped me.”

“You’re drunk dialing me. Typical.” Katara let out an exasperated sigh. “I hope The Factory isn’t some seedy club. I thought things with you and Lee were going really well lately.”

“Lee?” Sokka’s initial relief evaporated in the face of his mounting confusion. “No, I don’t—” 

“Sokka, you’re my brother and you know I love you, but I don’t have time for this right now. My Disability Rights Law final is in a week and I need to get some cramming in if I’m going to make it to dinner tomorrow.”

“You have a final? Like, for school?”

“Yes, for school.” Katara’s tone tipped past annoyance and into frustration. “Look, just call Lee. I’m sure whatever it is, he’ll understand. You guys have made it through worse. Don’t drive, drink lots of water, and try not to be too hungover tomorrow.”

“But, Katara—”

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

Katara hung up abruptly, leaving Sokka sitting alone at the table, dumbfounded. He stared at her name in his contacts, debating whether or not to risk calling again. Two warm hands came to rest on his shoulders, jolting him out of his train of thought, and he snapped the phone shut reflexively. 

“Everything okay?” a mellow, somewhat sleepy voice asked from behind him.

Sokka’s confusion and surprise melded with a third emotion, something akin to deja vu. He knew this voice—and yet, at the same time, he was sure he’d never heard it before. 

The hands on his shoulders began to move in a lazy, circular motion, thumbs applying a light massaging pressure.

“Uh, yeah. I think so,” Sokka mumbled, consciously attempting to release some of the tension from his body. 

“Nervous about dinner tomorrow?” 

Sokka offered a noncommittal grunt and shrugged his shoulders. Dinner tomorrow? What the hell was going on here and why was he the only one who didn’t know? 

The hands released him momentarily, arms coming forward to encircle him as the heat of the man’s bare torso pressed against his own. The other man (Lee?) tightened his embrace for a moment and pressed a light kiss to his temple. He smelled faintly of spice and woodsmoke, his lips dry, but warm. Cool, soft hair spilled down over Sokka’s chest from where the man was leaning in close. It was long, black, and straight, and hanging loose it pooled around Sokka to mesmerizing effect. 

Sokka took a steadying breath. 

“Yeah, um… I’m just nervous about tomorrow. I’ll be fine.” 

“It really will be okay, you know that, right?” The man behind him straightened as he spoke, voice growing soft. “Your family loves me. They love us. I mean, once she decided I wasn’t some con artist or whatever, Katara pretty much adopted me on the spot. At this point I think she might like me better than you.”

The man laughed to himself, somehow both a rugged and delicate sound. He walked around to Sokka’s right, taking the seat next to him at the table. 

“You know, if you’d prefer, we can wait and tell them some other night,” he continued. “There’s no rush—it’s not like the wedding’s next week. We haven’t even set a date.”

Sokka looked down at the ring on his finger, then up at the man sitting next to him, eyes wide. The man was smiling—a small, private thing that curled gently at the right corner of his mouth. His steady gaze was full of calm reassurance, and his eyes flashed an unnaturally gold color in the low light. 

Again, an uncanny twinge of recognition churned in Sokka’s gut. He may not know who this person was (his fiancé, apparently?), but he felt familiar. Sokka broke eye contact, unnerved, and when he looked back up the man’s eyes had dulled from gold to hazel.

Must have been a trick of the light. 

“Yeah, um… No,” Sokka managed, before the silence got too awkward. “I mean, we can go ahead with the plans for tomorrow. I’m just a little out of sorts tonight. I’m sure you’re right.” 

The man reached for Sokka’s hand, not quite convinced. 

“Seriously, we can wait. You don’t have to have an explanation. Family stuff can be… complicated.” 

The man’s expression clouded for a moment and Sokka’s nerves surged. He was supposed to know this person, apparently. They had history. It was his turn to speak now, and he was supposed to know what to say to remove the clouds in those hazel eyes and bring back their warm surety. 

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” Sokka gave the man’s hand a squeeze before withdrawing it to rub the back of his neck. “I must’ve had too much caffeine or something. It’ll wear off by the morning. Just go back to bed. I’ll be in soon.” 

The man still didn’t seem completely convinced, but he stood anyway, giving Sokka a pat on the shoulder as he walked back to the bedroom. 

“Okay, just try not to stay up too late.” 

Sokka nodded a quick assent, and—once he heard the click of the bedroom door closing—released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

Alone again, he leaned back in his chair and took stock of the small dining room in which he was sitting. There was a pile of mail sitting on the corner of the table, so Sokka flipped through it. Some of the envelopes were addressed to him, others to someone named Lee (the hot guy with long, soft hair, strong arms, and golden-hazel eyes), but they all had the same address: 42 Timberlane Dr, Hayesville, Kansas. So—he was living with his fiancé in his childhood hometown. Interesting. 

He spotted a flannel shirt hanging with some coats on a rack in the hallway and went over to grab it. His eyes drifted absently over a collection of framed photos on the wall as he buttoned the shirt. There were several photos of him and Lee. In one they were at a restaurant. In another, they were in hiking clothes, posing in front of a mountain vista. It was bizarre, seeing photos of himself in places he didn’t recognize. But at this point, his brain was starting to settle into the constant white noise of bewilderment. 

One of the photos was framed with a ticket stub, which caught his eye. The photo itself looked to be the oldest of the bunch, Sokka sporting the ill-advised soul patch he had begun growing shortly after turning 18. Lee was difficult to recognize at first too. He was wearing a brightly colored spandex suit, his beautiful hair trapped under a decorated bald cap and his face covered in neon face paint. Sokka squinted at the ticket stub: “Cirque du Soleil: Varekai.” 

Sokka was engaged to a circus performer. 

_Interesting._

The fuzzy feeling in his head intensified as Sokka stood, aimless, in the empty hallway. He still had no idea what was going on, but now that the sheer volume of it was catching up to him, each new detail began to feel less and less important. It was like he had stepped through a portal into someone else’s life—except that everyone here knew him, and he at least knew Katara, if not Lee. No, it was more like a dream—a nightmare, maybe. He was in a play where everyone else already had their lines memorized while he hadn’t even seen the script. 

Except he wasn’t scared, exactly, so it wasn’t a true nightmare. The blurriness at the edges of his thoughts should be alarming, but as he stood staring at his own smiling face (small in the group photo he had been gazing at blankly for the past few minutes), he felt oddly serene. It was like being buzzed, or high, maybe—something between the two.

Sokka smiled dumbly to himself as he passed his eyes over the other faces in the photo. Lee had his arm loose around Sokka’s waist, Katara was on his other side, Gran-Gran was in the center, sitting behind a cake holding a comical quantity of candles, and to Gran-Gran’s left…

Sokka recoiled as if he had been hit, the world snapping suddenly back into focus. 

It couldn’t be.

He reached forward, yanked the photo off the wall, and took it to one of the lamps in the living room for a better look. 

Behind Gran-Gran, Sokka’s father was standing, head tilted backwards, mid-laugh. And next to his dad, one hand tucked around him, the other resting on Gran-gran’s shoulder…

It was Mom.

Sokka didn’t hear the crash as the frame fell from his hands, shards of glass spreading across the floor. He didn’t find it odd that he knew his car keys would be in a dish near the door when he dashed out of the house, nor did he notice that his Impala, though the same make and model as the car he’d grown up with, was missing many of the small details that made it unique. He didn’t miss the charms that no longer hung from the rear view mirror and he didn’t think to check for the silver knife hidden in an under-seat sheath that no longer existed. 

He drove in a daze of single-minded urgency, oblivious to stop signs and street names. He sped past once-cherished landmarks without as much as a glance: the parking lot where he learned to ride a bike, the playground where he helped Katara conquer her fear of the Big Slide, the bank that always gave out name-brand lollipops. He followed the suburban streets instinctually, his stops and turns automatic. 

When Sokka came back to himself, he was standing at the front door of his childhood home with very little memory of how he had gotten there. The house looked exactly the way he remembered it—and also, not. He remembered the red brick, black shutters, and white trim. He remembered the potted plants on the porch and the forest green front door. But he also remembered the explosion that had destroyed the upstairs bedroom and the fire that had consumed the roof and inner walls. Standing here on this threshold, he could still taste the ash in the air as his lungs constricted, fighting against each burning inhale of smoke—

Sokka shook his head, willing the memory away. This house bore none of those scars. His hand shook slightly as he reached for the doorbell. 

The chime sounded, followed by a small eternity of silence, and then the sound of rustling behind the door. The porch light flicked on and the front door opened. 

It was her. 

She was older here, in person, than she was in his dreams. She had more lines around her eyes and a few stray grey hairs. But her eyes were still a strong, clear blue and her loose hair was crimped at the sides near her face from the neat, half-up braids she always wore. 

It was her. It was Mom. _His_ mom. 

She was here, she was alive, and real, and—

She was talking to him. How long had she been talking to him? Shit. 

“—said you just took off. What are you doing here?” 

Sokka only managed to catch the tail end of what she was saying, the meanings of the words still not quite coalescing in his mind. He blinked. There were silent tears on his face. 

And then he remembered he could move. 

Sokka reached forward and enveloped his mother in a tight hug, the tears still flowing from his eyes.

“Woah, hey,” Kya said, startled, before settling in and returning the hug. “What’s wrong, love? Did something happen?”

Sokka tried to laugh, but the sound that escaped him was choked and weak. He pulled back from the hug, overcome with the need to see her face again. 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. 

Her face (her beautiful, kind face) fell slightly at his answer, brow crinkling with concern.

“Sokka, come on inside and calm down,” she entreated. “Whatever’s going on, I’m sure we can figure it out.” 

Sokka followed his mother ( _his mother_ ) into the house. 

“Everything’s fine. Actually, everything’s more than fine. I don’t know I just couldn’t sleep and I thought, ‘You know, what? I haven’t stopped by and said hello to the folks recently—and they’re always pestering me to keep in touch,’” Sokka knew he was rambling as his mother guided him to the living room sofa to sit down, but he didn’t care. “So I decided—screw it, I can’t sleep anyways so I’ll just go check in.” 

Kya sat in an upholstered chair to his left, reaching across the coffee table to rest her hand gently on his knee. 

“Did you and Lee have a fight? When he called, he sounded…” she paused, searching for the right words. “He didn’t say so, but he sounded worried that maybe he’d done something to set you off.” 

Sokka wasn’t sure how to answer her question, but he desperately wanted to soothe the unsease he saw reflected in her eyes. 

“No, we didn’t fight.” That, at least, he could assert honestly. “It’s… It’s hard to explain. I’m fine, I promise. I’ve just been having a weird night and I needed to make sure that you were here and that everything was safe. Not that I had any reason to think you wouldn’t be, exactly. Like I said, nothing’s wrong. I just needed to be here, so I came.”

Kya pulled away from him, sitting back into her chair and folding her hands in her lap. 

“You’re not…” she took a breath, her voice quiet. “You’re not _on something_ , are you?”

Blindsided by the question, it took Sokka a few beats to work out what she was asking. 

“If you are, that can be fine,” she added hurriedly. “If you tell me what you took and how much, we can figure out what to do next. I have the next few days off to spend with your father, but I think Ashuna is on call, so if we need to go to the ER—”

“No, no,” Sokka cut her off. “I’m completely sober. I just really needed to see you. How do I explain this in a way that’ll make sense…”

Sokka rubbed his face, smearing away the tears that had gathered there. He’d never been good at lying to Mom.

“Have you ever had a dream so real that even after you woke up, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it had actually happened?” Sokka asked, deciding to go for the closest thing to the truth he could come up with. “Well, you see, I had this dream where you were dead. In the dream, you had actually died a long time ago and it had been years since I’d seen you. So when I woke up, well, I just really needed to see you and make sure you were okay.”

“So you rushed over here in the wee hours of the morning because you had a nightmare?” Kya deadpanned, lifting an eyebrow at her son. 

She looked so much like Katara. 

No, Sokka corrected, Katara looked so much like _her._

“Well, when you put it like that…” Sokka rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Kya let out a small laugh, her concern melting. 

“Oh, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re never too old to come running to your mom when you’ve had a bad dream,” she teased affectionately. 

She stood and walked over to him, bending to place a kiss on the top of his head. 

“I’m completely fine. Your father gets home early tomorrow morning,” she paused, squinting at the clock on the wall, “Or, I guess, later _this_ morning. We’ll have the big family dinner, just like we planned, and everything will be okay.” 

Sokka let out a sigh of relief, but didn’t follow as his mother began to walk back towards the front door. She turned and fixed him with a questioning look, hand resting on the living room entryway. 

“Can I…” Sokka broke eye contact, suddenly nervous. “Would it be too weird if I asked to stay here tonight? You don’t have to make up the guest room. I can just sleep on the couch.”

Kya was quiet for a moment, considering. 

“Of course you can, love,” she said at last. “This is your home. You’re always welcome here—and you know where the extra blankets are if you need them. Just make sure you give Lee a call and let him know you’re here. Poor kid’s probably stressed out of his mind.”

“Sure. Can I use the phone? Forgot to grab mine.”

Kya ducked into the hall and returned, phone in hand. 

“You know, you can always come to me if you need to talk. Things haven’t always been easy for your dad and me, with his work always keeping him away.” She fixed her steady blue eyes on his. “You and Lee… You’re good for each other. I can’t promise I’ll know the right thing to say, but I’ve been married for over thirty years. You learn a thing or two along the way.” 

“Thanks, mom.” Sokka did his best to keep tears from welling up once again as he took the phone from her. “I love you. I really, really do.” 

Kya patted him on the cheek. 

“Of course you do,” she said with a wink. “I’m a goddamn national treasure.” 

Sokka let out a surprised huff of laughter as his mom headed back up the stairs. He listened to her climb each one, the creaking wood like music to him. It wasn’t until the last footsteps had faded away and he found himself looking down at the phone in his hands that he realized he didn’t know Lee’s number. Hopefully the home phone kept a record of received calls. After all, he’d promised Mom he’d contact Lee. 

He’d promised Mom. 

A full-body shiver ran through him at the thought. He gripped the clunky handset tightly and began to cry as waves of emotion crested within him. He did his best to stay quiet, rocking slightly as the tears streamed down his face. He wasn’t even sure what emotion he was feeling (joy? confusion? love? disbelief?)—just that there was _a lot_ of it. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, rocking himself and trying to control his breathing. But when it finally subsided, he immediately started clicking through the limited menu options on the phone in his hand, searching for Lee’s name. 

Because he’d promised Mom he’d call.


	2. Chapter 2

Zuko frowned at the uneven ground beneath his feet with a frown. A gravel access road met the crumbling asphalt shoulder of the rural two-lane highway at an awkward, jagged angle. It was a poor excuse for a crossroads, but he supposed it served its purpose. He lifted his head and scanned the expanse of empty highway, lit brightly by the almost-full moon. The Impala had to be close. 

With each covert visit, Zuko was getting better at pinpointing Sokka’s location. He’d been keeping tabs on both of Hakoda’s children ever since the debacle with Than and the devil’s trap, but it was Sokka that he found himself actively seeking out. It had been decades, centuries even, since a mortal had outwitted him so handedly; so he told himself his growing fixation was motivated primarily by a need for revenge. 

Perhaps it was.

Motive aside, the fact remained that he had traveled a great distance to check on the hunter in person—again. He could send someone else to do surveillance, which he had initially tried. But Zuko hadn’t been lying when he told Sokka that he and his sister were famous. Hakoda’s deal with Zhao had sent ripples through the underworld, triggering a cascade of whispers that something big was on the horizon, something Zuko wasn’t invited to be a part of. If he sent a lackey off to check up on the siblings, he risked ruffling the feathers of the other demons constantly swirling around the pair. Minions talked—and as much as Zuko was loath to admit it, while he was individually powerful, he didn’t currently wield enough political clout to openly pick a fight with Zhao.

The Impala was parked off the side of the road. Even from far away, he knew it was empty; if Sokka was inside he would have sensed it. 

He transported himself to the car in an instant, kicking up a small cloud of dust as his feet landed in the weeds. His reflection in the passenger side window, only visible in the dark because of his heightened senses, was warped by the angle of the glass. He paused to straighten his tie, its deep maroon a single splash of color against his black, well-tailored suit, and then turned away. 

He spotted Sokka’s flashlight immediately. The single pinprick of light stood out like a beacon against the dark expanse of tangled weeds. How appropriate. 

Zuko smiled ruefully to himself as he watched the hunter crash through the underbrush towards a large, crumbling brick building. Each time he found Sokka, the memory of their previous meeting rushed back to him. The genuine spark of pure good he had seen, radiating from the core of Sokka’s soul, had imprinted itself like an afterimage on Zuko’s psyche. That one, brightly burning spark went against everything he took for granted about the material plane. Mortals were selfish and cruel. They were petty, greedy, and endlessly self-deceptive. Occasionally they were naive—but they were never  _ good _ . The memory niggled at him like a rock in his shoe. 

A light in the darkness indeed. 

Zuko sniffed at the air as he watched Sokka approach the ruins. There was something else here—a creature of some sort, not a demon. Zuko recognized the stink of it even before he noticed the movement in one of the factory’s upper windows: an alû, a brutish monster that fed on the weak and sleeping. 

Sokka reached the factory’s entrance, turned his light off for a moment, and then flicked it back on before heading back the way he had come. He shoved plants aside noisily, the beam of his flashlight making him an easy target. 

It was a clever trick, feigning ignorance to draw the creature from its lair. Zuko was almost impressed. Though it wasn’t as if the alû were known for their intelligence. 

Zuko’s lips curled in disdain. To think that some called these monsters djinn. The alû had no real power, only cheap illusions and an animalistic hunger for flesh. They stunk of the decay upon which they fed. His pride bristled at the thought that some mortals classed himself and these soulless brutes under the same vague umbrella of supernatural wish-granters. He was, of course, nothing like them—but standing this close to an alû, the indignity of the comparison stung him anew. 

The thing stalked silently closer to Sokka, and Zuko waited for the hunter’s inevitable strike. Lost in his thoughts, Zuko almost missed it when the alû pounced. It jumped out from the underbrush and clasped its glowing, hallucinogenic-wreathed hand around Sokka’s nose and mouth. 

The hunter crumpled without a fight. 

Startled, Zuko stared in disbelief as the alû bent down to examine its prize. 

_ No. _

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. That  _ thing _ had no right to—

Zuko stopped, making a conscious effort to unclench his fists. Now was not the time or the place to interfere. He couldn’t risk drawing Zhao’s ire or inadvertently revealing himself to Sokka because of a hasty, ill-considered impulse. Alû fed slowly; Sokka wasn’t in immediate danger. 

Zuko took a slow, deep breath as he waited for the initial spike of anger to subside. Though he technically didn’t need oxygen, he found the action soothing. His rage receded slightly, coiling back down within him, but in its wake something dark, solid, and possessive lodged itself like a spike in his chest. 

The alû lifted Sokka’s unconscious form and began to drag him back towards the building as Zuko seethed in the shadows.

That mindless animal couldn’t begin to comprehend the value it was about to waste for a handful of vulgar meals. There was  _ no fucking way _ he was going to let that happen. 

Sokka belonged to him. 

***

“Well hello there, bright eyes,” Kya greeted her son in the kitchen, smiling over the steaming mug of coffee in her hands. “Didn’t expect to see you up so early.” 

Sokka rubbed his face and squinted at the digital clock on the stove; five twenty-eight was early in any reality. 

“I’m hungry,” Sokka explained with a yawn. “Might hop back on the couch later and nap before I head out. I called Lee like you said—he knows I’m here.” 

Still half-asleep, Sokka was pleased to find that his mom still kept the cereal in the cabinet to the left of the sink. He was running on fumes at this point. Even after he’d successfully navigated his conversation with Lee last night, he’d been unable to rest. He’d lain awake for hours on the couch, terrified that if he let himself fall asleep this dream would be over. He must have passed out eventually, though he didn’t remember it. He had woken up with a start to the sound of his mother making coffee in the kitchen and a manic buzz of frayed emotion prickling under his skin. 

“Coffee?” Kya asked, already reaching for a second mug. 

“Sure, thanks.”

Sokka took his bowl of cereal and sat at the small table in the kitchen. It was covered in the detritus of everyday life: unopened junk mail, stray pens, a set of hopelessly tangled earbuds, a few errant clothes pins. His mom cleared a spot for his coffee and he ate his breakfast with the bowl in his lap. 

Kya leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped her coffee, the steam catching in the pale light of the morning sun. Backlit against the kitchen window, she looked so unpretentiously beautiful, so casually  _ alive _ —any hope of small talk died on Sokka’s lips. He had spent many years wishing for the chance to speak to his mother again, but here in this moment he found he had little use for words. It suddenly didn't matter very much why he was here, how he had gotten here, or even where “here” was. Right now, Sokka was content to sit on this almost-too-small stool, eating his cereal and drinking coffee with his mother, and let himself sink into the companionable silence of the dawning day. 

“So, did you patch up everything with Lee, then?” Kya asked at length, resting her now-empty mug on the counter near the sink. 

“I think so?” Sokka sighed. “I mean, we talked. I promise we’re not fighting. It’s hard to explain. Things are just… complicated for me right now.” 

“You’re really not going to tell me what’s going on, are you?” Kya fixed her son with an appraising stare.

Unsure of what to say, Sokka shoved the last bite of cereal in his mouth and looked away. 

“Fine, fine. I get it. Too awkward to talk to your mom about,” she said, lifting her hands in a quick gesture of surrender as she approached the small table where he was seated. “I’ll butt out. My offer still stands, though, if you change your mind later.” 

“Thanks, mom.” Sokka sipped at his coffee as Kya began sorting through the mess in front of her. 

“If you’re going to take that nap, you should make it quick,” she said, leaning across him to toss a pile of papers in the trash. “Your dad should be here in a couple hours.”

“Sick of me already?” Sokka joked. 

Kya paused her work and shot him a half smile. “Your father took a trainee out on this last route, so it’s been over a month since I’ve seen him last—and it’s been more than three since the last time we both had the same days off. So by all means, hang out here as long as you want. But don’t be surprised if we abandon you when he gets here. We’ve got some pretty serious reacquainting to do.”

Kya wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and Sokka just about choked on his drink.

“Eww! God, Mom. Gross, please, just stop.”

Kya shrugged. “You asked.”

“No I didn’t, actually.” Sokka stood, empty bowl in hand, and walked toward the dishwasher. 

“You should be grateful your parents still have passion in their marriage—“

“Seriously, mom.” Sokka screwed up his face in disgust. “If you say the word passion to me again I might just…”

Sokka stopped short as another strong wave of not-quite-deja-vu, similar to the sensation he’d felt when he’d first heard Lee’s voice, swept over him. He glanced down at the open dishwasher in front of him. He’d known where it was without thinking, just like he’d known his mom always put bowls in the middle of the top rack, and that he needed to rinse the bowl off first because mom refused to trust that the dishwasher could do its job without help.

Kya said something undoubtedly teasing in reply, but Sokka didn’t hear it.

They hadn’t had a dishwasher in this house when he was a kid. In fact, he distinctly remembered it becoming a point of contention when he was six and came back from a sleepover insisting they get one. 

“...Lee have to work today?” 

Sokka only caught the end of his mom’s question, still working to make sense of the things he did and didn’t know. 

“Yeah, but only in the morning,” Sokka answered without thinking, eyes still locked on the dishwasher, watching the last bit of excess water drip from the bowl he’d rinsed and placed so confidently. “His Saturday barre class is the gym’s most popular group session.”

Wait. 

Had Lee told him that last night? No, he couldn’t have. That conversation had been as short as it had been stressful, composed mostly of Sokka rambling off vague platitudes that Lee had pretended to find reassuring. He hadn’t even known Lee worked at a gym until just now, when he heard himself say it. 

How was any of this possible?

Sokka grasped the counter in front of him, his mind spinning. He felt dizzy, as if he’d just stood up too quickly. His vision began to narrow, the collapsing edges fading into a fuzzy blue-black. 

Where was he,  _ really _ ?

His shoulders tensed as a low, burning pain began to spread up his neck. The ringing in his ears coalesced into a syncopated, metallic clinking sound that echoed around in his head. 

How had he gotten here, and why—

“Sokka?” His mother’s voice cut through the vortex in his mind. 

A steady hand pressed lightly between his shoulder blades, and he worked to focus on its warmth through the thick flannel of his shirt.

“Hey, are you okay?” 

Her voice was soft and reassuring like the hand on his back. It pushed back the questions ( _ how? why? where? _ ) that needled him, pounding like mallets against his skull. It was a lifeline, and in that moment Sokka actively chose to grab it. He let it quiet the part of his brain that was in panic, the part that needed to analyze and make sense of this new reality. He rejected the doubt, choosing instead the comfort his mother’s voice promised. 

The pain began to recede and his vision settled. 

“Yeah, sorry. I’m good.” Sokka scowled, blinking away the last of the fuzzy blue smudges in his periphery. “I really didn’t get much sleep last night.” 

He glanced over at the dishwasher. Of course his mom had a dishwasher. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know when she had gotten it. It was just a kitchen appliance—the majority of kitchens had them, usually installed near the sink just like this one was. 

What had he been so upset about?

“Maybe you should give your coffee a second to kick in and then head home so you can crash,” Kya suggested. “That old couch really isn’t built for sleeping on. I keep telling your father we should get a new one but you know how he is about change.” 

“Yeah,” Sokka replied, rolling his shoulders with a yawn. “Yeah I guess I should head that way.”

Sokka turned and gave his mother another fierce hug. She seemed a bit surprised, but returned it happily. She was much smaller than him now. He had to lean down a fraction of an inch to rest his chin on the top of her head. 

If the hug lasted a few moments longer than his mom expected, Sokka decided it didn’t really matter. She was solid. She was real. In the face of that truth,  _ nothing _ else really mattered.

It wasn’t until Sokka was back in the Impala, about to put the key in the ignition, that he remembered that technically he didn’t know where he lived. The back corner of his mind he had managed to stifle earlier began to panic once again. He felt the worry and confusion begin to rise, bringing with it a telltale stiffness in his shoulders. 

Sokka closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and focused on thoughts of his mother. He tried his best to re-access the headspace he’d been in as he sat with her in the kitchen, drinking coffee in silence. There was no pressure there. No looming catastrophe. No expectation that he know the right thing to do or have the perfect thing to say—just companionable, peaceful quiet. 

The panic retreated, and Sokka turned the keys to start the car. As long as he didn’t think too hard about it, maybe he could find his way home on instinct. He couldn’t remember any details of the drive in the dark that had brought him here the night before. Perhaps if he could channel that same detached, auto-pilot mindset, muscle memory would do the rest. 

He pulled out onto the quiet cul de sac, windows open to the mild summer morning air, and began to drive. 

***

Zuko waited for an opening to enter the factory without alerting the alû, each second dripping by with agonizing slowness. Sated by its newest victim and unaware it was being watched, Zuko knew the nocturnal creature would soon be heading out into the night to do… Well, whatever it is that an animal like that does with its free time. 

Sure enough, after a little over an hour, Zuko spotted the alû slinking out from the back corner of the building. It broke into a run across a field of waist-high grass, a hunched humanoid shadow fading into the distance. 

Zuko didn’t dare waste time. 

He eyed the factory from where he had been hiding in the tall weeds. The second-story window where he had first spotted the monster was still in view, a floor-length opening devoid of glass. 

It would do nicely. 

Zuko shifted himself to it, his shoes grating on rough brick as he braced himself against what was left of the casement’s rotted frame. Balance regained, he stepped down lightly onto the scaffolding just inside. 

He sensed Sokka’s location immediately, not needing to see to give chase. In another moment, Zuko was standing on the ground of the factory. He took a few steps to round the side of a large piece of machinery before shifting again, appearing now in the building’s back corner

The alû had bound Sokka’s hands with rope and lifted them above his head. He hung suspended, the balls of his feet just barely touching the ground. There was a second person next to him, a teenage girl similarly strung up, though given the pallid color of her skin she had probably already been held here for days. 

Zuko took a hesitant step forward. The mortals were stored amid a collection of hanging chains of various heights, telltale stains in the concrete marking where others had once been stored, dangling like drying meat as their life slowly pooled out of them. What a waste. 

Sokka’s eyes were open, but unseeing. He twitched as Zuko approached, rustling the suspended chains nearest him, but his face remained lax, his stare unfocused. Near his collarbone, a cross-hatched square of medical tape marked the entrance of a narrow tube that wove up the chain above his head and connected to a bag of clear liquid. 

Zuko blinked, surprised. An IV? He resisted the urge to reach up and flick the rectangular sack of fluid. Providing prey with fluids without needing to wake them would greatly increase the number of meals their bodies could provide before they died. 

Who would have thought: an alû using tools. Given enough time, perhaps anything could evolve. 

Zuko huffed out a strained, quiet sigh. Clearly Sokka wasn’t in mortal peril, so his soul wasn’t on the cusp of slipping away. He also wasn’t conscious, so there was no real opportunity here for Zuko to swoop in and make a deal. He could try and shake him awake, but…

Zuko’s whole being rankled at the thought of winning Sokka’s soul off the back of a lucky shot from some monster-of-the-week. He wasn’t interested in forcing some mockery of consent. If he was going to make a deal for that bright-burning soul—no,  _ when _ he made the deal, it would be on even terms. He wasn’t a cheat like Zhao, arranging a car crash and then haunting the back hall of the hospital. He was better than that. 

A buzzing noise cut through the still air, pulling Zuko from his thoughts. He frowned, confused, until he spotted the outlines of a cell phone vibrating in Sokka’s back pocket. 

Katara. 

As a rule, the two kept in close contact when on a hunt. Hopefully Sokka’s inability to answer her call would be enough to alert her of the danger her brother had stumbled into. She was a capable hunter. Even without a car, surely she’d be able to find her brother before it was too late. 

The phone buzzed again. If she couldn’t figure out where he was or didn’t have a way of getting to him, there was a chance things could still go wrong. Zuko had had no idea the alû was sophisticated enough to steal medical equipment, much less know how to use it. Apparently anything was possible—and it’s not like Zuko could wait here for and monitor the situation indefinitely. He had a day job, after all. 

A third ring. The call would drop soon. 

If only it was a traditional telephone. The invention of wired communication had been a real boon for Zuko. The wires created a physical connection between caller and receiver, granting a clear path for teleporting from one to the other. Cell phones were much less precise. Technically they did still establish a connection between two points, but it was a nebulous thing, bouncing around the electromagnetic spectrum. He could try and follow it, but he was just as likely to end up stranded next to a cell tower in the middle of nowhere as he was to reach whatever motel Katara was holed up in. 

Zuko looked into Sokka’s blank, glazed-over eyes and made a choice. 

When the phone buzzed again, Zuko was already gone. 


End file.
